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That was an aspect of his world I hadn’t considered. Sure, I played royalty sometimes, but I could slip back into a normal life for the majority of my time. Fitz never had that option.
“You said your parents both had a say in the participants, but who did you invite?” If I was supposed to help him choose the right woman, it seemed imperative that I understand what he was looking for and seeing his ideal picks would give light to the matter.
His eyes drifted to the left as he considered the question. “First was Gwen. We were chums through college and she’s of a decent pedigree and beautiful, of course.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Pedigree? Are you looking for a wife or a schnauzer, Fitz?”
As if caught, his gaze locked on mine, surprised but amused. “A wife, but when marrying into royalty, the entirety of the family tree must be considered.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Gwendolyn is fun and vivacious. I never know what to expect from her.” I waited for some wisp of attraction in his expression, but it never came. “She would make a worthy queen.”
“Oh,” I pressed my palm against my chest, “excuse me while I swoon, Your Highness.”
Fitz grasped a pillow and lobbed it at my head. “Such disrespect.” Anyone else, I would have worried, but Fitz loved our give-and-take. “If you’re done mocking me—“
“I’m never done mocking you,” I quipped back.
“As I was saying,” he rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat again, “I also invited Blair, whom you met. She’s shy but nurturing. We’ve talked extensively before about her world views and I find her… intriguing.” He held up a finger to stop me before I started again. “And, I also invited Dagny.” He sighed. “She’s more like a cousin at this point. No attraction there. Quirky, keeps me on my toes, but,” he leaned forward, bracing his arms against his knees, “have you heard her laugh?” His lip curled upward. “It’s positively ghastly.”
I laughed easily. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, really?” He tilted forward even more as if disclosing a secret. “Consider an animal whose laugh is a hyena’s call mixed with a banshee’s scream and combine those with overtones of nails on a chalkboard, and even that creature would have a better laugh than hers.” His description left me giggling which brought a smile back to his otherwise frustrated face. “For the record, it’s nothing like yours. Perhaps you could train her. Yours is pure music.” He paused to listen as if appreciating the symphony. “I’m not sure I can endure a lifetime of Dagny’s screeching laughter without locking myself in a tower or removing my ears.”
I pouted my lip out. “And you’ve only just grown into them.”
Another pillow soared between us as retribution for my words. “I’ll have you know, Michaela Caldwell, I am greatly respected and revered in my country.” He chucked another pillow at me and reached for a fourth, though his laughter had greatly impaired his aim. “You’ll do well to remember that.”
I caught the last pillow and peered over the top. “It’s weird when you call me Michaela.”
“As it’s equally off-putting to hear you call me Leonidas,” his head tipped to the side a bit as he reflected, “and I’ve never heard you call me Prince Fitzborough.”
“I should probably start.” I set the pillow aside. “Reginald’s head nearly imploded when I called you Fitz. Actually,” I sat and mimicked his position, “I don’t know how to treat you in public. I’m guessing being this informal is frowned on.”
“Yes,” reluctance stained his tone. “Certain protocols must be maintained in public, unfortunately, but we can meet here when necessary to discuss your thoughts on the competitors.”
I rose to my feet. “Help a girl out, would ya? Show me these protocols so I don’t make a fool of myself.” I frowned as I thought about the gate. “Or at least not any more than I have.”
Fitz stood and straightened his shoulders. For the first time, I found myself looking at him as a man, not the boy I once knew. He wore a grey three-piece suit, tailored to perfection, with a thin black tie that brought out the darkness in his brown eyes. Though I assumed he typically shaved, a few days’ worth of stubble shadowed his strong jaw. When we were young, his hair was rarely combed, let alone styled, but as an adult, he looked immaculate, gelled, styled, handsome in ways that didn’t compute for me.
He was… Fitz, but not.
“First of all,” he inclined his head with a smirk firmly in place, “you must know how to curtsy.”
“No bowing?” I winked and found joy in his slight blush.
“Not for a lady.” He looked me over, smirk deepening. “Which I understand is a foreign phrase to an American like you.”
My scoff only increased his amusement. “For the record, I can curtsy just fine, thank you.” To show him, I tucked my left leg behind my right, dropped my head forward, and sank into the curtsy I used when I was playing princess.
“Lower,” Fitz advised.
I bent my knee more, dropping another inch, but even that wasn’t enough.
“Lower,” he commanded again, and my thighs started to burn. “Come on, Coco, this is for royalty, not a tea party. Show some respect.”
Despite the wildfire burning through my legs and rear, I dropped another inch until I felt like I might end up on the floor. “I have to do this every time I see you? I don’t think—“ I looked up at his face, hand covering his mouth in an effort to smother his laughter.
He was messing with me!
“Fitz, you rogue!” I tried to rise up to teach him a lesson, but my leg cramped and I squawked as I tipped haphazardly to the side. Moments before I crashed to the floor, strong arms wrapped around my waist and prevented my fall.
